


I'll Darn You Back Together

by tattooeddevil



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-Explicit, POV Outsider, Soft Boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-22 20:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: Athina is running when she comes across a witcher and a bard. As unlikely a pair as they are, there is something really damn sweet between them.An outsider view on Geralt/Jaskier being soft <3Work and chapter titles from various The Amazing Devil songs.Tags and ratings will change as I progress, so please check each time you read!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 70





	1. Welcome To The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> The opening scene wouldn't leave my brain so I had to write it down. And then 3000 more words followed in a single evening. So, here you have it: my first fanfic in many years. Bloody bard.
> 
> No idea how long this will be but I'm thinking 4 or 5 chapters.

The tavern’s din quieted down as she made her way to the bar. She dimly wondered what she looked like to these people; bare feet muddied and bleeding, slip torn and dirty and corset barely holding together, twigs and leaves snagged in tangled hair, and every exposed bit of skin streaked with dirt and blood. She supposed they’d seen worse in this part of the continent though - as famous as it was for its pristine beaches, as it was for the water spirits and monsters that fed off the locals.

The fire in the hearth reached her nearly frozen limbs as she made her way deeper into the now almost silent tavern, towards the bar. Not a single person moved, or even breathed. It wouldn’t be long before the whispered rumours would start, she knew; despite the rough reputation of the area, it wasn’t every day that a half-naked, bloodied woman stumbled into a tavern anywhere on the continent.

Her fingers started tingling as the blood in her veins warmed up from the heat of the fire and the bodies pressed into the cramped space. It would start to hurt soon, she knew; it wasn’t the first time she had dragged herself into a warm place, bruised and broken.

Bodies shuffled out of her way as she made her way to the bar, openly curious stares following her every move from a small distance. The townsfolk were clearly, and understandably, torn between curiosity and trepidation; no one offered her any help, despite her evident limp and sorry state. The man behind the bar eyed her warily, likely trying to work out if she was going to be trouble and if she had the coin to afford anything in his establishment.

When she finally reached the bar, she nearly fell into it in her haste to find any kind of support to keep her upright. Her energy was fading quickly and she knew she wasn’t yet done for the day. A few more things to do before she could find a bath and a bed.

“A hot cider, please, good sir.” She heaved herself up on a vacant stool as she caught the barman’s eye and ordered her drink. The spiced alcohol would help her body to warm up to more normal temperatures faster, and numb some of the painful twinges of pulled muscles, open cuts, and sore bones. The barman didn’t move or reply. She could feel the stares of every person in the room burning in her back, waiting with baited breath what would happen next.

With a sigh, she made an intricate sign in the air and immediately the normal tavern din picked back up. People went back to their drinks, the argument at one of the tables that had stilled when she had stumbled in picked back up with a faint “and another thing!”, and the barman shuffled off to pour her drink. The drain on her energy was like a sharp shooting pain down her hand, arm, and into her chest. It temporarily winded her; she was more exhausted than she thought.

But at least now no one saw anything off about her, glamour shakily in place to make her seem a dressed and clean patron like the rest of them. It even provided the belief that she had paid for her drink already. It was temporary and wouldn’t last as long as she would have liked, but it was a small mercy. She briefly worried about the other patrons’ memory of how she came in and what had happened with that bedraggled woman but decided she couldn’t care less. She wasn’t going to be around long anyway; there was somewhere she needed to be, soon.

The barman pushed a steaming tankard of cider to her and she gratefully took a sip. The spiced drink slid down her throat to sit warm and comfortable in her belly. The second mouthful thawed out the rest of her and the third swallow numbed the pains and sores that had started to make themselves known in all their sharp glory. Her mind cleared as the pain dulled, leaving it light enough to really think through her current situation. Tired, almost naked, broke, on foot, and weaponless.

Ace.

She was by no means defenseless but those weren’t great odds for anyone. Especially someone that needed to travel many more miles in not enough days. It was times like this she was an actual mage with the ability to just-- portal. 

She downed the rest of her tankard and waved down the barman for another drink. When she caught his eye, she could see the brief confusion on his face that signalled the fast approaching end of her glamour; she would need to drink quickly and move on unless she wanted more trouble. It held for now and she greedily took the new drink from the barman and gulped down half in one go. But before she could take another pull, a strong hand closed around hers and the tankard. “You might want to slow down if you want to make it out of here on your own steam.”

Gold eyes met hers when she looked up and she recognised their owner immediately. “Witcher.”

The witcher tipped his head silently and let go of her hand and drink. He held her eyes as he reached into his coin purse and put a few pieces on the bar. “For the drinks.”

Her stomach dropped; how did he know? The glamour would make everyone think she’d paid, so why did the witcher think he needed to pay for it? The confusion she feigned was closer to her true feelings than she felt comfortable letting on.

“They’re paid for. Though I’m sure the barman will appreciate the tip.”

The witcher grunted in response, his expression unimpressed. “Your glamour doesn’t work on me. It’s too weak.”

A sharp sting of panic sent the nervous butterflies in her stomach roaring wildly. She wouldn’t be able to go up against a pissed off witcher and come out on top on her good days, let alone today. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say when she opened her mouth but she didn’t get the opportunity to form any kind of words as a brightly clothed man popped up beside the witcher.

“Geralt? Everything okay?” The man had an open, curious look on his face that he turned on her when the witcher didn’t answer his question. She braced for the shock of another person seeing through her glamour but the man’s expression turned flirty rather than disgusted. He grabbed her free hand that was resting on the bar and kissed the back of it with a silly flourish and an impish grin.

“My fair lady, it is lovely to meet you. My apologies for my brute of a friend here, he is socially stunted and whatever he said, he probably didn’t mean to insult you.”

The witcher sighed with a roll of his eyes and the man’s smile stretched into a teasing grin. He let go of her hand with a quick wink, before clapping the witcher on the shoulder. “Geralt, apologise to the lady for whatever you said and--”

“Jaskier,” the witcher interrupted, “it’s not what you think.”

The man put his hands on his hips and looked between her and the witcher with a droll look on his face. “It’s not? I see a lovely young maiden who’s just trying to have a quiet drink and you standing over her looking constipated. Is that not what’s happening here?”

Relief swept through her at the man’s confirmation that her glamour was still intact. Mostly. To anyone not a witcher, apparently. Who was looking at her again, a thoughtful look on his face. The gaudily dressed man kept glancing between her and the witcher, clearly used to the silence as the witcher mulled over whatever it was he was considering. She wasn’t yet convinced it would not end in her being booted out onto the street but so far the whole exchange had not been what she expected, so maybe it wouldn’t end in a beating?

The witcher’s silence was broken by a soft sniff, accompanied by his nostrils flaring slightly. Was he smelling her? The other man echoed her thoughts as if she had spoken them out loud. “Geralt! Are you smelling her?” He sounded outraged. The witcher hmm-ed.

“She’s human. Had to check. She’s wearing a glamour.”

The man’s gaze swung back to her, with a curious glint in them. “A glamour? How do you know?”

The witcher didn’t answer. Instead, he stared her down with an undecipherable look on his face. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to stare back or cower, but chose cower after a moment’s consideration. She still wasn’t clear on the witcher’s intentions and she could feel the glamour starting to fade. So she tipped her head in a mirror of the witcher’s earlier gesture and met the other man’s eyes. “It’s true. The whole bar is under a glamour. Well, for the next few minutes at least.”

“We need to get her out of here before it fades and everyone realises what she did.”

She looked at the witcher in surprise. “We? You’re going to help me?”

The witcher only grunted in reply. He reached for her forgotten tankard and emptied it in one gulp. He put it down on the bar before looking her up and down once. “Can you walk?”

She considered it briefly. The glamour had cost her but she still had some energy left. Enough to follow the witcher and his companion out of the tavern after a curt nod. She could feel the brightly dressed man’s eyes on her back as they made their way outside but he didn’t say a word. She knew he was trying to figure out what the glamour was hiding; he would find out soon enough so she didn’t offer any explanation.

Once outside, the witcher stopped and turned to his friend. “Alright, out with it. You get three questions.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Three is not going to be enough! Geralt, I have SO many!”

“You get three.”

The man huffed. He seemed to think for a few seconds and then opened his mouth.

“Okay, first: what is the glamour hiding? I mean, Geralt says you’re human so it can’t be some kind of monstrous visage or tentacles or something. So what is it? I know mages that go through the transformation at Aretuza come out looking gorgeous and stunning - I’ve seen it - so you’re not hideously disfigured or anything.” He gasped dramatically. “Are you actually a man?”

The torrent of words thundered over her like a rock slide over the side of a mountain. It left her feeling stunned as if it had been a rock slide. She gaped at the excited man for a second, trying to work out how to even start processing that. Tentacles?

Instead, she turned to the witcher. “Is he always like this?”

The witcher snorted, and instantly looked like he surprised himself by doing it. He schooled his features back into something more neutral but there was a glint in his eyes when he nodded once. “You get used to it.” He flapped a hand to the other man. “Two more, bard. Get on with it.”

She filed away the “bard” comment for later and focused back on the other man, who looked like he wanted to strangle the witcher. “I’m going to ignore that, Geralt.” He turned back to her and cocked an eyebrow questioningly. “So? What is this,” he waved a hand in front of her, up and down, “glamour hiding?”

Refusing to answer was futile, her glamour would be gone in mere minutes anyway, so instead of answering with words she made a small sign with her fingers and felt the prickle of magic as it dropped the threads of the spell that held the glamour together. She saw the moment it dropped away the illusion of put-together-human from around her and revealed her sorry state to the man’s eyes. 

His mouth dropped open on a silent gasp. He looked her up and down a few times, seemingly unsure of what to address first. With a flick of his gaze to the witcher, he settled on, “Geralt, have you even checked if she’s hurt, you oaf?”

He was in her personal space in seconds, picking twigs out of her hair and running surprisingly calloused hands over her arms and hands to inspect them for wounds. Finding a few of the smaller cuts and bruises, he glared at the witcher. “She IS hurt! We need to help her, Geralt.”

The witcher rolled his eyes again. “I already said we would.” With that, he turned and walked away. She was unsure of what exactly was happening but the witcher said he’d help, and she did need assistance if she wanted to be on the road as soon as possible. She shrugged mentally and turned to follow the witcher.

“Geralt! Where are you going? Geralt, you can’t just march off without explaining where we’re going.”

It didn’t stop the witcher in his tracks but he did turn his head to address the other man briefly. “Stables. We’re getting Roach and going to the inn. Grab your stuff, we’re leaving. Now.”

That seemed to make the other man forget about his other questions. He hurried back to the tavern and disappeared inside. She decided to follow the witcher to the stables; with the glamour gone she had no desire to face the tavern’s patrons and cause even more confusion.

The stables were to the back of the tavern, with room for half a dozen horses. The witcher was already saddling a brown mare when she reached the stable box. He didn’t acknowledge her verbally, but threw a blanket at her. It smelled of horse but it was clean and warm, and she gratefully wrapped it around her. He held out a pair of worn boots next and grunted, “they’re probably too big but you can’t walk around barefooted. It’s not far to the inn.”

She took the boots and pulled them on over her dirty feet. They were indeed too big by a few sizes but it would have to do. The witcher was right; she needed something to wear, even if she didn’t have to walk far. She followed when he led the horse out of the stables silently.

The other man stumbled out of the tavern just as they stepped out of the stables, his cheeks red with excitement. “Wow, you really started something there, my lady! People are going mad trying to work out what happened to “the beggar woman bleeding to death on the floor”!”

She could hear the quotation marks in his remark and shrugged. “It’ll give them a tale to tell for a few days.”

“A few days?” The man threw his arms wide and exclaimed, “I will write a song that they will sing for years to come!”

Before she could react to that, the witcher growled, “Jaskier”, and mounted his horse. The other man nodded and shrugged his bag further up his shoulder before following the witcher down the road away from the tavern. She supposed she should follow too.

From behind the witcher and his companion, she could see the bag on the other man’s back was in fact a lute case. Bard, indeed. “Wait, you’re not actually going to write a song about this, are you?”

She thought she could hear another snort from the witcher ahead. The bard turned around with a wide smile. “Absolutely I am! This is a wonderful story. Pretty maiden mage, lost in the woods at the edge of the continent, tired and bruised, searching only for kindness. She runs into the famous White Wolf and his trusted bard, and throws herself in their arms for protection and safety.”

“I throw myself in your arms? Unlikely. Also, I’m not a mage.”

The bard waved a hand. “Details. Artistic license. Wait, you’re not a mage?”

Ahead, the witcher held up two fingers in silence. The other man flipped him off. “If you’re not a mage, how are you able to produce a glamour? What else can you do? Ooh, are you an Aretuza rebel, too strong-willed and rogue to adhere by its rules and the rectoress?”

That was a lot closer to the truth she was comfortable admitting. But the bard had sidled up next to her with an expectant look on his face and she knew she wasn’t going to get away with not answering. She thought about a way to say enough to satisfy him but not enough to give away the full truth. “I did go to Aretuza, but I never ascended. The rectoress and I-- we didn’t see eye to eye.”

The bard threw his arms wide again, nearly hitting her in the arm. “I knew it! Rogue mage--” “Not a mage.” “-- witch?” “Offensive.” “Sorceress?” “Close enough.”

“Rogue sorceress, lost in the woods--” “I wasn’t lost.” “-- Details. Rogue sorceress, lost in the woods, stumbles into a tavern on the edge of the continent--” “Hardly the edge.” “-- Again, details. She is tired, bruised, bleeding, in desperate need of warmth and kindness, when she meets the White Wolf. And he--”

“Who is the White Wolf?” She could hear the capitals when he said the name. 

The bard looked at her a bit funny. “Really? You haven’t heard of the White Wolf? Geralt of Rivia? Famous witcher?”

She shrugged beneath the blanket. “I don’t spend a lot of time in towns and taverns if I can help it. Too many people.”

The bard laughed. “Well, you’re perfectly matched to our witcher here. Not too fond of people himself.”

This time it was the witcher that flipped off the bard.

The friendly banter had calmed her nerves and pushed the exhaustion to the back of her mind for a bit. If she thought too long about exactly what she was doing, she knew she would have a proper freak-out so for now she ignored the voice in her head telling her to leave now before she got in too deep with a witcher of all people. With a travelling bard, for Melitele’s sake.

The witcher had been right, the inn was only a few minute’s walk. They hadn’t run into any other people on their way, and she briefly wondered if the whole town had been in the tavern. But after the witcher had handed over his horse to the stable boy and pulled his bags off the saddle, and they made their way inside, they found the common room packed with people. A bard with a violin was playing and a second bard was singing a song; something about a farmer’s son and his unrequited love for the innkeeper’s daughter.

The witcher hmm-ed again, though she couldn’t make out any infliction in it, but the bard lit up at the sound of the two musicians. “Elke and Siane! Geralt, I have to say hello, I haven’t seen them in ages. Don’t slink off upstairs, I will be playing later.” He sounded like a parent warning a child, but the witcher just grunted and took a seat at an empty table, away from most people. The bard almost skipped over to his friends and disappeared into the crowd. She took a seat opposite the witcher and pulled the blanket tighter around her.

The inn’s common room was noisy and the witcher didn’t seem like a talkative person, but she figured she needed to at least discuss what was happening and what would be happening. She caught the witcher’s eye. “Thank you. I don’t know why you’re helping me, but thank you.”

The witcher just hmm-ed. He signalled the barmaid to bring some drinks and then focused back on her. “What’s your name?”

Huh, she hadn’t actually introduced herself. “It’s Athina.”

The witcher nodded once. “Geralt. Of Rivia.”

Athina smiled briefly. “The White Wolf, apparently.”

Geralt huffed. “Bloody Jaskier. It’s better than the Butcher of Blaviken, I suppose.”

There was too much there to unpack right now.

“Jaskier, he’s a bard?”

“Hmm. Been travelling with him for a few years now. Can’t seem to get rid of him.”

She raised a sceptial eyebrow. “You have a horse. He does not. If you really wanted to get rid of him, all it took was ten minutes of galloping.”

Geralt hmm-ed again but didn’t reply. He kept scanning the crowd, eyes sharp and assessing every person and movement. For danger, she supposed.

“So, Geralt of Rivia, where do we go from here? You got me out of that tavern. Why?”

Geralt considered that for a second. “You looked like you needed help. A bath. Bed.”

Athina frowned. “And you offer help to everyone that looks a little bit needy? I thought you killed monsters, not rescue kittens.”

Geralt hummed again; it was getting irritating now, the non-committal hums and grunts.

“So why me? What do you want from me?”

That seemed to provoke something in the witcher. He turned his golden, hard gaze on her. She couldn’t read it and it unnerved her. The arrival of the barmaid with their drinks broke the stare and it brought a bit of relief. They both sipped their drinks for a few moments before Geralt spoke again.

“I don’t want anything. I wanted to help.”

It sounded final and she hesitated to argue against it. But she couldn’t completely let it go. “So why me? I imagine you don’t pick up any woman that looks out of sorts.”

Geralt huffed; it almost seemed amused. “I don’t. Your glamour-- it was unusual, I wanted to know. What you are.”

“Well, here I am. Pseudo-mage, damsel in sort-of distress, on the verge of collapse. Nice to meet you.”

Something in Geralt’s eyes turned to concern. “Collapse?”

Athina waved it off. “I’m fine. For a few more minutes anyway.” She smirked hopefully at the witcher. “I could do with a bath and a good night’s sleep though.”

Geralt didn’t reply, but he stood up and caught Jaskier’s eye across the room. He mimed a lock being turned; Athina couldn’t see what Jaskier answered but Geralt gestured at Athina next, and within seconds a key was thrown into his hand and handed across the table to her.

“We have a room here. The innkeeper owes us a bath, you can have it.”

She hesitated for a moment but Geralt just sat down and looked away, seemingly ending the discussion. So she did the only thing she could - and wanted.

“Innkeep, a bath please, to room 12.”


	2. Like Petals In A Storm

There was a small fire still burning in the room’s hearth, barely large enough to warm even itself so the rest of the room was cold. Athina shivered under the horse blanket and quickly threw a new log on the embers. It took a few minutes before the flames were high enough to start heating up the air around her, giving her more than enough time to regret every choice she made that got her into this situation; if there was one thing she hated, it was the cold.

Luckily the innkeeper chose that moment to knock on the door and interrupt her thoughts. He nodded when she opened the door and ushered two ladies carrying buckets into the room. “It’ll only take a few minutes, miss.” He looked her up and down with a frown. “You look like you need more than just a bath. Is everything alright?”

She nodded her head with a small smile. “I’m fine, thank you for the concern.”

The innkeeper left her to watch the ladies traipse in and out of the room with bucket after bucket of steaming water to dump into the tub in the small bathroom attached to the bedroom. An awkward silence had fallen over the room; the women clearly didn’t care for conversation and since this wasn’t her room, Athina was hesitant to do anything but stand in place and huddle into the blanket.

The room wasn’t big; two single beds stood under the window opposite the fire, a small desk and chair sat in between the beds, and the fire was flanked by the door to the bathroom. A tall bag with two swords sticking out was propped up against one of the beds, the other was covered in quills, paper, and brightly coloured fabrics. No guesses as to who slept in which bed. The floor of the bedroom was covered with a thin but warm-looking woolen rug, and she pulled off the boots to feel it against her toes. Itchy, but a relief from the cold hard forest floor and the hard soles of the boots.

After what seemed like endless buckets of water, the ladies finally left her with a curt nod and a silence that was like balm to her exhausted nerves. The floorboards were cold when she stepped off the rug and into the bathroom but the air around her was already heavy with warmth from the steaming bath water. She quickly folded the horse blanket away, shrugged out of the remains of her clothes, and slipped into the water.

Sinking down into the tub until the only thing above the water was her nose and top of head, she let the heat wash over her and relax her muscles. The rise of her body temperature to a more normal level was accompanied by tingles and prickles from head to toe, but it left a soothing lethargy behind that she had no chance of fighting. She let it drag her under water for a few moments until even the tip of her nose was warm and comfortable, before sitting up and groping around next to the tub for the soap. With some of the last of her energy, she washed her hair and body, and scrubbed at her feet, until all that was left was rosy, clean skin.

It took Athina a few moments to realise the music that had filtered through from the common room below had stopped. Before she could think about what that meant, the door to the bedroom opened and a gruff voice called out her name. She scrambled up and out of the tub, and grabbed for a towel to wrap around her. Her clothes were really beyond saving but she couldn’t really walk around in just a towel either. Hesitating, she picked up her discarded clothes and wrapped the remains around her shoulders, covering what the towel couldn’t.

When she stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom, Jaskier was clearing his bed from the mess on it, and Geralt was sharpening one of his swords. Jaskier looked up when he heard her come in and smiled brightly at her.

“There she is, our rogue sorceress!”

Athina rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile nor the faint blush from creeping up onto her face. Jaskier winked and gestured for her to sit down on the bed that was now clear of his stuff. Athina pulled the towel slightly tighter around her before sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. It was feather soft and she barely contained the moan of delight that wanted to escape her upon feeling something other than the hard, cold forest floor under her.

She eyed Geralt but he hadn’t stopped sharpening his sword or acknowledged her in any way. He knew she was there though; she could see the amused look Jaskier shot him at his passiveness, even before he commented on it. “Don’t worry about mister grump over there, he’s also glad you’re feeling better.” Jaskier looked at her questioningly. “You are feeling better, yes?”

Athina nodded. “I am, thank you. I appreciate the help.”

That seemed to please Jaskier, and he turned to drag the desk chair out and flopped down in it. He glanced at Geralt briefly, who still didn’t acknowledge either of them, before propping his feet up on the side of his bed and leaning back, as if settling in for a good story. Athina realised he wanted to hear hers.

She tugged on the towel and her ruined shift on her shoulders again, sifting through her thoughts. What could she say that wouldn’t have the witcher throw her out on her ass after all? But before she could settle on a start, Jaskier was up out of the chair again with a dramatic gasp and rooting through his bags. “You’re naked! You can’t be naked!”

At a soft snort from Geralt, Jaskier straightened up and glanced at her with a faint blush on his cheeks. “That’s not-- Sorry, I didn’t mean--” He huffed and flung the fabric he was now holding to Athina. “Please, put this on.”

The blush stayed on his face as she investigated what he had passed her. It seemed to be dark blue breeches and a grey shirt with long sleeves. It also seemed about three sizes too big.

“Thank you. They’re uhm-- a bit big?”

“Yes, well, it’s either this or some of Geralt’s clothes which are even bigger. And they most likely smell like monster guts and swamps.”

Geralt scoffed at that. “At least they’re not an eyesore like yours.”

Jaskier turned on his heel and cocked a hip with a flirtatious smirk at the witcher. “Oh stuff it, you love my clothes. I give your world colour, witcher, admit it.”

He received nothing more than an indecipherable grunt in reply but Jaskier seemed pleased. “That’s what I thought.”

Athina wasn’t sure what to make of the exchange between the men; seemingly harsh words but softened by small smiles and kind looks. The clearing of a throat startled her out of her contemplations and she fumbled the clothes in her arms. She motioned to the bathroom, “I’ll just put these on-- in there.”

The breeches surprisingly fit quite well, though she had to roll up the legs not to trip over them. As expected, the shirt was more like a tunic on her but she tucked it into the breeches as best as she could and rolled up the sleeves. She looked like a girl playing at being a man but it would have to do. At least the clothes were warm and whole.

When she returned to the bedroom, Geralt was still working on his swords. Jaskier was sitting cross-legged at his feet, shoulder leaning into Geralt’s knee slightly. He was cleaning what looked like armour pieces, and humming softly to himself. It looked oddly domestic. When he heard her pad into the room, Jaskier smiled brightly up at her. “You look ravishing, my lady.”

Athina rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile at his antics. It felt nice to smile after so many days of cold and gloom. She sat back down on the bed and folded her hands in her lap. Jaskier was still looking at her expectantly, having set aside the leather he had been cleaning. She huffed, amused. “Fine, I suppose you have one question left. Ask it.”

Jaskier straightened his back in his seated position and cleared his throat theatrically. He schooled his face into a serious and weighted expression and bowed as much as he could in his position. “Please, my fair sorceress. Enlighten us with your tragedy of a story of how you came to run for your life through the barren and freezing forest, chased by destiny and-- Ow, Geralt!”

Geralt snorted, “You deserved that and you know it.” Jaskier grinned sheepishly at him but dropped the dramatics instantly, rubbing the back of his head where Geralt had cuffed him. He flapped the hand at Athina to allow her to start speaking. She noticed how it then dropped to Geralt’s ankle and curled around it, casually affectionate.

Choosing to ignore it for now, she took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. She wasn’t sure how much to tell the witcher and his bard, but they had been friendly and helpful. She owed them an explanation, if nothing else.

“I was on my way to Cintra. I have passage on a ship to Skellige in a few days. Nilfgaard soldiers grabbed me. There were too many for me to fight off, and they had magical shackles. Dimeritium, it suppresses all magic. They took me to a village they had plundered nearby and threw me in a cell.” Athina rubbed her wrists softly, the marks already faded but the memory of the steel still clear in her mind. “They were waiting for their mage, Fringilla, to arrive. Nilfgaard are conscripting mages and druids to build their army. You know of their plans, I’m sure.”

“But you’re not a real mage.” Jaskier grimaced at his own ineloquence. “I mean, you didn’t ascend. I mean--”

Athina shook her head. “It’s fine, no offence taken. It didn’t seem to matter. Nilfgaard is grabbing everyone that can cast the smallest spell. Fringilla apparently has a way to siphon power from mages and use it herself. I don’t know how but I’m in no hurry to find out.”

“How did you get so tattered?”

She averted her eyes for a second. “While they were waiting for Fringilla, the soldiers-- they had some-- fun, with me.”

Geralt’s hands stopped their movement on his sword at that. When she met Jaskier’s eyes, she saw shock and compassion in them, and she shook her head. “No matter, I don’t want pity. They were pigs and I managed to gut some of them when I escaped. The guardsman was stupid enough to keep a dagger on his belt every time he came into the cell. One day he unlocked the shackles, he was going to string me up from a beam in the ceiling, and I grabbed the dagger and gutted him with it. I broke out and ran, didn’t have time to search for my clothes or weapons. That was 2 days ago.”

A flash of something crossed Geralt’s face, appreciation maybe, and he put the sword away. “When was Fringilla to arrive?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, they didn’t say. It couldn’t have been long. I heard them complain of low rations and unplanned stops. The next day maybe? They stopped feeding me the day before I broke out. They wouldn’t have if she would be much longer and I were to be useful.”

Silence hung in the room, heavy with her tale and its implications. She could see Geralt consider everything she’d said, a thoughtful frown on his face and his undivided attention on her now. It was unnerving to be the sole subject of the witcher’s gaze but she didn’t think there was a threat in it. Jaskier, as she was starting to learn was usual, cut the silence with another question. “What’s in Skellige?”

She smirked. “Besides goats and beaches?”

Geralt’s mouth ticked up in one corner. “Don’t forget the flies. Many flies on Skellige.”

Jaskier frowned at Geralt, unimpressed. “Oh, _now_ you find a sense of humour? By the gods, Geralt, you really are not funny.” He sounded more teasing that serious though.

Athina couldn’t help but laugh though. Whatever these two men were to each other, how unlikely a pair they seemed, it made her feel at ease to be in their company. “There’s something on Skellige I need to retrieve.” She held up an apologetic hand at Jaskier’s inhale to ask. “I can’t tell you, it’s personal. The fewer people know, the better. I would take a later ship out but my things, and my coin for a new passage, are still in Nilfgaard’s possession. I need to be on that ship in 3 days.”

“Can’t you just magic your way on board?”

Athina smiled and shook her head. “It’ll be a four days passage at least. Even at my best, which I am not, I can’t hold a glamour for that long. I’m not an actual mage, remember?”

Jaskier nodded in understanding. “Okay. How do we get you to your ship then?”

Geralt nudged him with his knee at that and Jaskier squeezed his ankle in return. Their eyes met and Geralt raised an eyebrow. Jaskier raised an eyebrow back and set his shoulders with a huff. Geralt sat back and stared at him for a few moments, before looking at Athina with an unreadable look on his face. When he turned back to Jaskier, he nodded once with a grunt and Jaskier smiled brightly. “Wonderful, we leave at sunrise.”

Whatever conversation the two men had had between the looks and huffs and grunts, she didn’t know, but it was clear they shared a much deeper connection that just travel companions. She couldn’t read Geralt at all, but Jaskier seemed to be fluent - and an equal to the witcher. There was tenderness underneath the snark, small little gestures mostly initiated by Jaskier but accepted without question by Geralt. It was almost affectionate.

Jaskier rose from the floor and plucked a plate of bread and cheese from the desk, which he handed to Athina. She started to protest but he tutted disapprovingly at her. “You just told us you haven’t eaten in three days. Take it and eat.”

“You better do what he says. You won’t win, no one’s as stubborn as him.”

“Pot, kettle, Geralt.” But Jaskier never broke his stare with Athina until she took the plate and popped a piece of cheese in her mouth obediently. He smiled brightly when she did and plopped back at Geralt’s feet to resume cleaning the armour. She ate in the comfortable silence, eyes on the two men, until her plate was empty and her eyes started drooping.

Geralt had finished his swords and was now simply sitting and observing Jaskier, one hand softly scratching at the back of the bard’s neck in a way that made Athina feel like she was watching something so intimate she shouldn’t have seen it. She averted her eyes and put the now empty plate back on the desk. Jaskier glanced at it with an assessing look and she laughed. “It’s all gone, I promise.” She ducked her head to him. “Thank you, that was very kind of you.”

Jaskier waved her gratitude away. “No thanks necessary. Now sleep. You look like death warmed over.”

Athina gasped theatrically. “Excuse you! What happened to the ‘oh my fair maiden’ and ‘looking ravishing’?” Clearly Jaskier was rubbing off on her.

Geralt huffed with amusement at that. “Empty words from a fancy bard. Now that he’s adopted you, all the niceness goes away.”

Jaskier squeaked indignantly but didn’t bother protesting or defending himself. Instead, he patted Geralt’s knee and softly murmured, “You should know, you big lug.” He set aside the armour with the other, now clean, pieces and used the witcher’s knee to push himself to his feet. He pulled briefly on Geralt’s sleeve and the larger man obediently scooted further up the bed so Jaskier could sit next to him. When Jaskier caught her eye, his look was as stern as it had been when he forced the food on her.

“No arguments. Sleep. Right there. I won’t let it go until I see you under the covers and with your eyes closed. Geralt can tell if you’re faking.”

“Leave me out of it, bard.”

“Oh shush, you want her to sleep well as much as I do.” Jaskier gave her a pointed look before bending down to pull off his boots. Athina looked at Geralt as he did, but Geralt merely shrugged and nodded at the pillow at the top of the bed she was sitting on. She held up her hands when Jaskier straightened and saw that she hadn’t moved yet. “I’m going, I'm going.”

She pulled the blankets off the bed and settled under them with a loud sigh and a few exaggerated wiggles. She raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, who was looking at her with an amused expression on his face. He winked before turning to Geralt. “You too, witcher. We’ve a long day tomorrow.”

Jaskier kneeled in front of Geralt and started pulling off his boots, Geralt moving with him in practiced movement, as if they had done it before. Athina figured they had; there was an unspoken comfort and routine between the men that spoke of years of close quarters, hours on the road, and ups and downs shared. Before she could think more on it, her eyes had slipped closed and she had nodded off in a well-needed, deep sleep.

She wasn’t sure what woke her but a glance at the window told her it was coming up on dawn. It was mostly silent, but for soft whispers reaching her ears from the other bed. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, she turned her head as slowly as she could to peer at the other side of the room. The lump on the other bed was too large to be just one person and the whispers were clearly from two different people. She could only make out someone’s back; Geralt’s, if she had to guess. A hand lifted from the other side of the witcher and carded through his hair before resting on the nape of his neck. She couldn’t make out the words, but the whispers sounded fond. Geralt’s signature hum was followed by a soft shuffle under the covers and a deep sigh from Jaskier as they settled again.

Athina couldn’t help the small smile from blooming on her face. The big bad witcher and his foppy bard were _adorable_.

She drifted off a little until the need to relieve herself became too dire to ignore. Not wanting to disturb the men still slumbering next to her, she slid out of bed and into the bathroom to do her business. When she returned, Jaskier was already up and packing their bags.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you!”

Jaskier smiled sunnily. “No worries, we were awake. It’s time to go anyway. Geralt is rustling up breakfast downstairs, he says to meet him there. How did you sleep?”

“Like a newborn.” She paused until Jaskier looked up from his packing to meet her eyes. “I am truly grateful, Jaskier. You didn’t need to help me and you’ve done so much. Thank you. How can I repay you?”

Jaskier shook his head and went back to his packing, dismissing any thanks. “No need. Just be safe, that will be enough thanks for us.”

She fell silent, unsure of how to react to that. She didn’t have anything to give them, offer them. Her magical abilities were limited mostly to herself and her immediate surroundings, not like she could magic up something for them. Her belongings were still in the village with the Nilfgaard troops, and she didn’t think stealing them something would go over well.

The silence went on long enough for Jaskier to finish packing, and to change the subject. “Here, wear these. Stuff the other pair in the nose of the boots, they’ll fit better.” He handed Athina two pairs of stockings before shouldering his bag and his lute, and heading for the door. “Don’t be too long, Geralt is eager to get going. Do you want honey or butter with your bread?”

She stared at the stockings in her hand dumbly. “Uhm. Butter?”


	3. Barefoot Walk Across The Lawn

The inn’s common room was fairly quiet when she came downstairs, with Geralt and Jaskier sitting together at a table in the far corner. Uninterrupted eye lines to both the front and back doors, and Jaskier to Geralt’s immediate right so he couldn’t come to harm. They were sitting close, but not close enough to be touching, or even seem more than just two travellers eating together. Their packs were stuffed under the table so she propped her improvised pack next to them. Jaskier raised a questioning eyebrow when he spotted it.

“Oh, it’s my ruined shift. I tore it into strips and washed them quickly so they can be used for cleaning and crude bandages and such. I fashioned the rest into something I can fit some things in; it’s quite a ways to Skellige and I need to pick up supplies along the way, and all my possessions are still with the Nilfgaardians.”

“Not for long.” Geralt didn’t look up but slid a board with bread, cheese, ham, and butter towards her. “Eat. We’re leaving as soon as you’re done.”

Athina sat down and stuffed a piece of bread with butter in her mouth. “We? Am I going with you?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative. “We’re getting your stuff back. And I need to know more about Nilfgaard.”

She glanced at Jaskier, who didn’t seem to find this plan surprising or disagreeable, so she assumed they had talked about it before she came down. And it wasn’t like she didn’t want to get her things back, and a witcher by her side would make things easier. “Okay. Thank you.”

“How did you get here, from where you were taken?”

“I followed the river mostly, to keep me hydrated and I imagined water meant I would come across a village at some point. Where exactly are we?”

“Attre. Where were you when they took you?”

Athina cursed softly. That’s farther south than she wanted to be by now. “The Amell Mountains, I had just crossed them. I should have made it to Hochebuz by now. Shit.”

Geralt seemed to think for a few moments. “If you followed the river for about 2 days on foot, and they grabbed you near the mountains, they must have kept you in Orlagor. Did you come through a forest?”

“No.”

“Good, no Erlenwald then.” He fell silent again, clearly thinking. Athina quickly finished her breakfast and smiled at the innkeeper when he picked up their empty boards. When both Jaskier and Geralt got up to leave, she quickly grabbed her improvised bag and followed them out of the inn. Geralt still hadn’t spoken and even Jaskier seemed in thought.

Jaskier broke the silence just as they reached the stables. “Erlenwald, wasn’t that where Duny was from? You know, Princess Pavetta’s betrothed?”

Geralt hummed a confirmation as he grabbed two saddles off the stables’ wall and handed one to Jaskier. Jaskier took it and they started saddling two almost identical horses, one of which was the witcher’s, Roach, but the other was new.

“Uhm, are we stealing a horse?”

Jaskier laughed at her hesitant look and shook his head. “No, this is my Calla. She and I didn’t accompany Geralt on his hunt yesterday so she spent the day here, resting. Not to worry, we’re not doing anything criminal.”

She nodded with a small smile. Not that she would have minded stealing a horse, she had stolen things before when there was a need - though never a horse, but she’d never done it looking so casual about it. Reassured, she changed the subject. “So, you’re bard? Any good?”

Jaskier caught Athina’s eye with a grin. “The best! Have you heard the song about the princess and the cursed knight?”

When Athina replied she hadn’t, Geralt groaned and Jaskier thumped him on the arm. “Shut up, you love my singing.”

Geralt glared at Jaskier but it lacked any heat if he had been serious. Jaskier grinned and then launched into a long and rousing song about a feast, a queen and princess, a cursed knight and a soldier who waited, a magical fight, two sets of vows, and promises made and honoured. By the time the song was done, they had made it out of view of the town and into the early morning sun, Athina behind Jaskier on his horse. “It’ll be quicker than if you walk, I should know.”

Jaskier told her about their adventures on the road, how they met and kept meeting, and sang of a few of their most daring hunts. Geralt never spoke but she could see he was listening, every now and then humming or grunting. She couldn’t really make out the difference between all of them but Jaskier seemed to, and always provided an answer. 

Jaskier also asked her questions. Unrelentingly so. When she commented on it, Geralt shot her an amused look and spurred Roach on so he was a little ahead of them. She suspected it wasn’t so much for privacy as it was to get some quiet time from Jaskier’s incessant enquiries. He really did talk a lot.

But Athina couldn’t be annoyed. As they rode along, Jaskier kept handing her small pieces of dried fruit and his water skin, and even a fresh apple at some point. They weren’t going to stop until dusk and clearly Jaskier made sure she would not go hungry or thirsty until they did. It was disarmingly sweet. So she answered his questions.

“Where did you grow up?” “Creyden, in Hengfors.” “Oh, you’re a mountain lion, just like Geralt!” “Thanks for not calling me a mountain goat.” “You’re welcome. Geralt, tell her about Kaer Morhen!” “No.”

Geralt told her about his witcher brothers and the keep with obvious fondness in his voice, and a sad look on his face.

“Did you study?” “A year at Lan Exeter, but it wasn’t for me.” “What did you study?” “Languages.” “Oh, I hear they have an excellent languages and histories department. Geralt, can we go to Lan Exeter some time?” “No.”

Apparently Geralt knew a better route to Lan Exeter than Jaskier, since he had actually been to the city before, and he would show Jaskier next spring after they came down from Kaer Morhen.

“How did you get out of Aretuza in one piece? I hear they sacrifice girls that don’t ascend.”

“Some families visited the school three seasons after I had been accepted. I snuck into the Loxia when the visitors were being shown out and then snuck into a carriage as it left.”

“What?!” Jaskier turned around in the saddle as much as he could, with a look of pure glee and excitement on his face. “That is the best escape story ever! Your ballad is shaping up to be quite the epic, my lady!”

Athina rolled her eyes. “Nothing epic about it, Jaskier. I got out, found myself on a dusty road on Temeria without clothes or coin, and no idea what to do next.”

Jaskier turned back and spurred Calla on to catch up with Geralt. “So how did you survive?”

“I hid away for a long time, trying to make sure Aretuza couldn’t get me back. They really do sacrifice girls.” She shuddered at the thought. “Worked odd jobs in taverns and inns until I had enough coin together to travel to Skellige.”

“What’s in Skellige?”

“The thing I can’t tell you about. Sorry.”

Jaskier hesitated and she knew he wanted to push the subject, so she briefly squeezed his arm in a silent plea to let it go. Thankfully he did. “So what magic abilities do you have then? You can cast a glamour, what else?”

“That’s really the best of my ability. I can cast smaller spells, like sleeping spells and truth spells. I can conjure up mirages, which is fun for kids mostly, and I can briefly influence a person’s memory. Make it seem like they are remembering something differently, or not at all. But that’s only brief, just enough to get out of trouble, mostly.”

Athina could practically _feel_ Jaskier’s face light up, without even seeing it. “Truth spell? Do tell!”

“Jaskier, no.”

“Jaskier, yes.”

“How about I conjure up a little dragon instead? It’ll last about a minute, you can play with it.”

Geralt was less than amused about a small smoke-like dragon flying around his head but Athina figured at least it wasn’t a truth spell.

****

They made camp about an hour after dusk. It was clear Geralt and Jaskier had a routine; tie down the horses, take off all packs and tack, Geralt brushed down the horses while Jaskier grabbed fire wood, Geralt hunted for game while Jaskier set up the bed rolls - plus a thick fur for Athina - and lit the fire, and while Geralt cooked the meat, Jaskier went to wash and replenish their water reserves. Athina helped where she could but she was more in the way of the finely tuned routine than helpful, so she sat on a log next to the fire once it was lit.

Geralt joined her at the fire to cook the venison he caught, in silence. Athina studied him for a few moments, until she decided to take advantage of the moment between just her and Geralt.

“Do I get three questions too?”

Geralt didn’t look up from the fire but his mouth ticked up in one corner in what she now knew to be a display of amusement, and he made a gesture with his hand as if to say the floor was hers.

“Why are you helping me? I know you said I looked like I needed it but I also know people are usually not just nice out of the kindness of their hearts.” 

If it sounded more accusatory than she meant it, Geralt didn’t seem to take offence. Instead, he glanced to where the stream was hidden behind a few rows of trees, where Jaskier was washing some of their clothes and refilling their water skins. “Jaskier would have some choice words to say about that.”

“I’m sure he has, he seems to always have something to say.”

That earned a huff, but it was more fond than dismissive. “You’ve been around him for less than a day, imagine years.”

She honestly didn’t really want to. Instead, she spoke to what she thought was the truth. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

It wasn’t even a question, but Geralt nodded in agreement anyway. “Not if I can help it.”

“Like you help me?”

His eyes briefly glanced at her before focusing back on the spot Jaskier had disappeared to again. “I wouldn’t have, before him. He’s a bloody bleeding heart. Too soft for his own good.”

She smiled to herself, no longer surprised but more touched by Geralt’s gruff adoration. She didn’t doubt he meant the words but he went along with Jaskier anyway, despite not needing to at all. Witchers had it bad enough on the road without having to save random women, no matter how bad they looked like they needed it.

“So why then? Jaskier?”

Geralt hummed softly in assent but didn’t elaborate for a long moment. When he did, it wasn’t what she expected. “That town. It’s not friendly. Not because of the monster I slayed for them, not even because they’re backwards, idiotic pricks. There is something dark in that town, something deep-seated and hateful. It’s old, whatever causes it, maybe a curse or a religious object. I could feel it when we rode into town yesterday.”

“So why did you stay and kill their beast?”

His silent gaze was answer enough. “Jaskier.”

“Jaskier. He needed a roof over his head, a bed. Proper food.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind being on the road?” She had expected it from a man clad in silks but he had been with Geralt for years apparently.

“He doesn’t. But I--”

Realisation dawned on her. “You wanted it for him.”

Geralt nodded, and finally dragged his eyes from the treeline to start poking at the fire with a stick. “You were the only other traveller in the town and I didn’t want to cause a scene. This was the next best thing to get you out safely.”

It was oddly sweet and Athina wasn’t sure how to respond. She hadn’t felt anything off but she was exhausted and hurt after all. They had done so much more than provide a bath and a bed; they had saved her from a potentially unsafe environment. She mumbled a thank you, but it seemed horrible inadequate. Geralt nodded in acceptance though, seemingly embarrassed, so she tried to ignore the guilt building in her chest.

“Is that why you’re escorting me to Orlagor? Another unfriendly town?” It was meant as a joke but it fell so flat, it came back around as sorrow. Geralt clearly knew it too, judging by the look he gave her in response. She winced, “Sorry. Why _are_ you escorting me? Is it because of Nilfgaard?”

Geralt nodded, done with poking in the fire and eyes trained on the trees again. “They are after something and I need to know what they know. How many there are. Who else they have captured.”

It was Athina’s turn to hum thoughtfully. None of the Nilfgaardian soldiers had spoken freely around her when she was in their captivity so she didn’t know of their plans, or how many of them there were, but she did know who was in the cells with her.

“There were three other mages in the cells with me.”

Geralt looked at her sharply. “Do you know who they were? Their names?”

“Yana, Kristoff, and Brien. A woman and to men. Do you know them?”

Geralt visibly relaxed again. “No.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence until Jaskier came trudging back through the forest clutching their now full water skins and a bundle of wet clothes. When he was close enough to make out their faces, he smiled brightly at Geralt. “The skivvy has returned with your laundry, my liege!”

Geralt scowled but Jaskier just smiled wider. “You’re welcome. I also found some tasty flowers for Roach and Calla. How is dinner coming along?”


	4. Place Your Smile In Mine

They arrived in Orlagor around midday the next day, slowed down by a rain storm that had surprised them as they woke up. They’d sheltered in a nearby cave to wait out the rain, where Jaskier entertained Athina with the story about how a rock troll had taken Geralt for a ride when Geralt had thrown a lasso around its head but wasn’t quick enough to tie the other end around a sturdy tree. Jaskier was crying with laughter by the time he got to the end, Athina not far behind. Even Geralt sported a small smile, despite the fun being had at his expense. It went a long way to settle her nerves at getting closer and closer to the town where Nilfgaard had kept her captive.

They were taking back roads as much as they could to avoid running into Nilfgaard soldiers but even then it was surprisingly quiet as they travelled. Suspiciously so, and they all three knew it. Even Jaskier fell silent as they got closer to their destination.

Athina had started to recognise the area more as they got closer to Orlagor, confirming Geralt’s suspicion that she was held there. “I escaped through here, I think I remember the route I took out of the village.” She met Geralt’s gaze. “Even if Nilfgaard has moved on, they will have left behind some footmen to clean up after them. They haven’t been gone long.”

Geralt hummed and returned his eyes to the forest ground. He had been tracking their surroundings by footprints and scents, and had been grumbling about the rain having washed away most of the useful clues. “Or at all. Not enough footprints for a troop to have gone by, not even with the heavy rain. How many soldiers did you see?”

Athina winced apologetically. “I was blindfolded when they took me in and I didn’t really stop to look around when I fled, sorry.”

“They could have portalled out?” Geralt met Jaskier’s concerned gaze at his suggestion but his face gave nothing away. For a second, Athina wished Jaskier was right; she knew Geralt would protect her but she still felt like she was walking back into the lion’s den unarmed.

A short hum was Geralt’s only response before he continued to lead them towards the village. Jaskier kept close to him, leading Roach by the reins, leaving Athina to look after Calla. Just as she noticed the horses become skittish, Geralt straightened with a hum. Jaskier stopped Roach and touched a hand to Geralt’s forearm softly. “What is it?”

“Magic.” His eyes found Athina’s. “Can you feel it?”

She usually didn’t feel magic unless she actively felt out for it, so it wasn’t until Geralt mentioned it that she noticed the low level of it surrounding them. “Yes. Very subtle but it’s definitely there. Shield?”

Geralt nodded in confirmation. “Noise shield.” He took a few more steps forward before turning around to face them. “Move forward a few steps, you’ll hear the difference.”

Athina let Jaskier lead Roach towards Geralt and followed with Calla. Within a few steps, it was like her ears popped and they immediately picked up distant voices, metal sounds from the blacksmith, and faint footfalls from horses and soldiers. Her stomach clenched painfully at the realisation. “That’s why is was so quiet. They’re cloaking the village.”

It didn’t have to be said aloud that it meant Nilfgaard had not yet moved on, and that they had a reason for needing to muffle their sounds. Athina briefly thought of the three mages in the cells with her. She didn’t know if they had received the same “treatment” she had, but the soldiers didn’t seem the types to play favourites. Sex is sex, and a hole is a hole. Killing someone is much more fun if it’s slow. And a noise shield is easier than having to remember to gag your playthings every time.

“Athina?” Jaskier’s voice pulled her out of her dark musings. 

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, I got-- distracted.”

Jaskier nudged her shoulder with his in a gesture of support but didn’t say anything. She didn’t miss the knowing look in his eyes and was grateful that he didn’t push it. “Come on, we’re nearly there. Let’s not have Geralt have all the fun by himself.”

Athina shook her head with an amused huff; how the colourful man always managed to lighten even the darkest moments, she didn’t know, but she hoped he’d never lose it. She was sure it went a long way to make Geralt’s life more pleasant too, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Geralt led them down the dirt road a few more yards before holding up a closed fist to signal they should stop and not move. He motioned them to move into the trees and when they were sufficiently hidden, he crept forwards slowly. Athina wasn’t sure what was happening, there wasn’t anything visible on the road and she didn’t hear anything, but she figured doing what Geralt said was probably her best bet to stay safe. She looked at Jaskier questioningly but he minutely shook his head. _Later_.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of voices and footfalls reached her ears and she realised that’s what Geralt had heard. She didn’t have a clear view of the witcher through the branches shielding them from being seen from the road, so she was surprised when he came walking over to them after a few minutes of silence. There were no more voices or footsteps, and the witcher seemed unhurt. He gestured for them to come out of hiding and sheathed his sword. When she made it back onto the road, Athina spotted two men lying on the ground a few feet away, throats clearly cut and bleeding out on their black Nilfgaardian armour.

“Good riddance.” Jaskier’s voice was soft but laced with bitterness. Athina didn’t respond, wasn’t really sure what to say. Geralt nudged Jaskier with his shoulder, a rare public display of affection that she hadn’t witnessed in the time she spent with them, and Jaskier visibly relaxed. He hummed softly before sidling up to Calla to pet her flank while Geralt dragged the bodies off the road and into the underbrush. He handed Jaskier and Athina both a sword each when he came back, taken from the Nilfgaardian soldiers. To her surprise, Jaskier not only took it but his balancing swings looked practiced. He grinned cheekily when he caught her surprised look. “I can wield more than a lute, milady. In fact, I am _extremely_ versed in swordplay--”

“Jaskier.” The bard stopped talking at Geralt’s exasperated interruption but winked at Athina anyway. Geralt was not above rolling his eyes at the antics but grew seriously quickly.

“We need a plan. These soldiers were likely patrols and expected back at a certain time. If they don’t return, they’ll send someone to find them and we don’t need a search party after us. The village is not far away and large enough to house maybe fifty soldiers, if they’ve just taken the beds available. We need to confirm that though, need eyes on them before we do anything.”

“I can cloak us for a bit, but I’m not sure if the magic of the noise shield will sense my magic. If it does, they’ll know we’re here.” Athina looked at Geralt for a decision; she wouldn’t be the one to have take on the bulk of the Nilfgaardians if they were found. Geralt considered it for a few seconds before shifting his gaze to Jaskier.

“Can you sneak in? Get a look at what we’re dealing with?”

When Jaskier nodded and began to dig around Calla’s saddle bags, Athina gaped at Geralt. “Hang on, no! You can’t send in a _bard_ to spy on the Nilfgaardian army! Not _Jaskier_!”

But Geralt seemed amused, one corner of his mouth lifting along with his eyebrow. When she looked at Jaskier, the amusement was copied on his face, albeit more clearly. He was holding a thick, expensive looking cloak and had strapped his lute to Calla’s saddle bags. He shrugged into the cloak and bowed deeply and theatrically for Athina.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, at your service!” When he straightened up, he grinned. “Also, Temerian and Redanian spy.”

“And a liar.”

Jaskier gasped dramatically but Athina could see the smile on his lips. “Wait, so you’re not a viscount? Or not a spy?” She was thoroughly confused now.

Geralt joined them at Calla’s saddle bags and started rooting around them as Jaskier straightened his cloak and explained. “I am actually a viscount _and_ a spy. I’m also actually a bard, and a professor at Oxenfurt - but that last one is of no use of us now.”

Jaskier slid a handful of rings that Geralt handed him, onto his fingers as Geralt continued the clarification. “Jaskier the bard is well-known as the White Wolf’s bard. Me. But the Viscount of Lettenhove is just another lowly noble that no one associates with either myself or Jaskier. It’s safer for him to go into the village like this, they won’t expect him to have a witcher or a sorceress with him.”

“Not a sorceress.”

Geralt levelled her with a flat stare and Athina blushed. “Sorry. But fine, point taken. So what? He’s going to walk into that village and start demanding things?”

“I could, but not this time I think.” Jaskier hopped on one foot as he tried to shove his other into an ornately decorated, stiff boot that matched the cloak in colour. “What do you reckon, Geralt? Lost little scared viscount, or desperate destitute down-on-his luck viscount?”

But he didn’t give Geralt an opportunity to provide an opinion, as he tugged on the other boot and straightened. “Actually, conniving viscount looking to join Nilfgaard and betray his people is probably the best way forward. It’ll get me into the village and in front of whomever is in charge. Hopefully it’ll take some time for them to find the man or woman in charge and I can look around a bit.”

He turned to Geralt and stepped into his personal space to briefly put a hand on his chest. Geralt covered the hand with his own and for a few moments, neither of them said anything. Athina looked away and busied herself with the knots in Calla’s mane, feeling like she was intruding on a private moment. The silence stretched on for a few more moments until Jaskier softly laughed and stepped away from Geralt.

“Alright then, off I go.”

He pocketed something that looked like a vial before smiling softly at Athina. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I have Geralt to come and save me if something goes wrong.”

Geralt grunted what Athina assumed was an affirmation and then patted the pocket she saw Jaskier slip the vial into. “As soon as something goes wrong, break it and I will be there in seconds.”

Jaskier’s nod was accompanied by a soft smile and then he resolutely turned and walked away, in the direction of the village. The cloak billowed behind him, the soles of his boots loud on the dusty road. Athina could hear him humming a tune, fading the further he got down the road. Geralt stood and watched him go until Roach nudged him in the shoulder. Geralt huffed and the spell that had fallen over them broke. He turned to her and gestured to the tree line. “We’ll wait there.”

As Geralt ensured they were hidden enough, Athina couldn’t help but fret. “Are you sure Jaskier will be okay? He might be good with a sword but no one can win against a whole Nilfgaardian troupe. What if Fringilla is still here? Someone has created the shield, it might be her. What if they grab him and he can’t break that vial, and you can’t get to him? I don’t want--”

“Athina. Stop.” Geralt’s voice cut through her rambling. He sounded stern but not angry. “This is not the first time he’s done this. He really is a spy and he knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine.”

Athina nodded, not quite convinced yet that Jaskier wouldn’t fall to the same plight she had. So many things could go wrong; they had no idea how many soldiers were still left, if Fringilla was still here, if they would even listen to Jaskier or immediately take him prisoner, if they would treat Jaskier like they treated her, if--

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and pulled her out of her spiralling brain and back into the trees they were hiding in. “Hey, focus on my voice. Take a breath and calm down.” Despite the gruff words, it did help her stop the panic before it consumed her. She took a few deep breaths and then looked up at Geralt with a grateful nod.

“Thank you. I guess I’m a little more affected than I thought. My apologies.”

Geralt’s hand dropped off her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, it’s understood. Will you be okay?”

“I won’t fall into hysterics and jeopardise Jaskier and us, if that’s what you mean. I can keep it together.”

Geralt huffed. “That’s not what I meant. But good to know.” 

Athina deflated, all the fight and tension leaving her body in a single sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply-- Apologies. I’m okay. Or I will be, once we kill some Nilfgaardian bastards.” She squared her shoulders and met Geralt’s gaze. “Tell me how we are going to do that.”

Geralt studied her face for a second, his amber eyes boring into hers searchingly, and when he found whatever he was looking for, he nodded once. “When Jaskier comes back, we’ll know more but we need to get to the person in charge without alerting everyone and starting a massive fight. I need to know why they’re here and what their plans are, and you need to find your things.”

“So we wait?”

“We wait.”

Geralt seemed to settle on his knees comfortably, his shoulders relaxed and his hands resting on his thighs, but Athina could see the concentration on his face. Focus, and maybe a little worry. She had no doubt he would be up with a sword in his hand in a split-second should Jaskier need it.

Ten minutes later, her legs started to cramp and she had to shift herself out of her crouch and onto her bum on the forest floor. Her movement caught Geralt’s attention, a single eyebrow lifting in question. She waved him off, not wanting to break his concentration, but Geralt raised the other eyebrow too, managing to insist without saying a word. It was quite impressive, she’d have to learn how to do that. Geralt was still staring so she chuckled. “Fine fine, I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay. How long have you and Jaskier been traveling together?”

Geralt seemed to consider that for a second. “Twenty-three years, seven months, and four days. On and off.”

That was-- much more exact than she expected. Her surprise must have shown on her face because Geralt’s mouth quirked in a small, rueful smile. “Just because witchers don’t have a lot of need to keep track of time, doesn’t mean it’s hard to forget the moment your life changed.”

“That’s-- very sweet.”

“You don’t spend that long with a poet and not pick up on sappy things.”

Athina laughed. “True enough. That’s a very long time to spend with someone, immortal or not. What made you stay together?”

“Love. His, mostly. But I’m trying to make that up to him.”

“You didn’t love him?” Even only knowing Jaskier for a few days, she couldn’t imagine anyone not immediately taking a liking to the man and falling in love shortly after. He was magnetic, a bright spot in an otherwise harsh and dark world, kind and gentle but with an enthusiastically cheeky outlook on life. He was light where Geralt was dark, the perfect pair.

“I think I always did, but I wouldn’t allow myself. He knew before me, so he loved for the both of us until I was ready.”

“And now you are.”

It wasn’t a question, any fool could see how much Geralt adored Jaskier, but Geralt answered anyway. “And now I am. I have many years to make up for. And a mountain.”

“A mountain?”

Something dark crossed Geralt’s face, hurt or pain, but he shook his head in clear dismissal. “Nothing.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the far away sounds of the village. 

“Any change?”

Geralt shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You said he’s done this before?”

Geralt hummed again, in confirmation this time. She was starting to decipher the various sounds he made. “He truly is a spy. Has been for many years. People mistake his foppish looks for foolishness, it’s good disguise.”

“A kind of magic of its own.”

Geralt huffed in amusement. “Don’t tell him that, he doesn’t need a bigger ego.”

They fell silent again, Geralt clearly listening for any disturbance in the sounds coming from the village, giving Athina a moment to consider the situation. She’d have to fight, one way or another. Jaskier would either come back with reports of a small band of soldiers that Geralt could take care of, or a squadron with a mage at its head that would take more than a single witcher and a half-witch to defeat. Either way, there would be fighting and she would have to defend herself - and her new friends. 

And she would, of course she would. They saved her from a violent, threatening situation before she even realised she was in one. Without asking for anything back, they were helping her get her belongings back and get on her passage to Skellige. And now this bright bard was risking his life to help her again.

“What was in the--”

Before she could finish her sentence, the air around them pulsated with a purple light. She smelled flowers, fruit, and the familiar tinge of magic. But this was much stronger than her magic - strong enough to send up a flare of purple fire and conjure a portal right where they were apparently.

Geralt was on his feet with a sword in his hand in a flash, his other hand pulling her up by the arm and shoving her through the portal. “Trouble, get ready.”


End file.
